Close Calls
by EchoResonance
Summary: Will Maka and Soul never get a break? Will the disasters never end? Will Soul ever be able to protect her like he feels he should, or will he continue to feel like a failure to her?
1. Stay With Me!

Part I

Finally. A witch's soul. Our mission was over.

But, now there was another problem. The two of us were hurtling toward the ground from what was easily an eighty-foot drop, seriously hurt and unable to do any of our flashy, usually superfluous flips. Well, her flips. I'd never been able to do a simple cartwheel, let alone all of her crazy acrobatics, but that's beside the point.

I shifted back from my weapon form and grabbed Maka's forearm, pulling her tightly to my chest, putting myself beneath her, ready to take the brunt of the impact, when she realized what I was trying to do.

"No, Soul!" She shouted, and tore away from me, shifting so that I was above her. Damn her and her insistence that no one help her. I didn't have time to react. No time to reach for her, or to call her stupid. We slammed into the mutilated courtyard with enough force to do a pair of wrecking balls proud. The ground around us caved, so that we were laying in a shallow, cracked crater.

For a moment I just lay there, dazed. It didn't hurt, I noted with satisfaction. I was already stronger, I could feel it. Still, it had been a hard fall, and I had to suffer with watching stars pop in and out of being before my eyes. Distantly I remembered Crona talking about something like that, and complaining that he just couldn't handle astronomy right then. That was before Maka had gotten through to him. With that thought fear surged through back through me, and I looked around. _Maka_. There she was, lying among the cracked stone and splintered wood, her signature pig tails completely gone and her hair a total mess. Maybe I could have relaxed; it's not like we'd never fallen before. Maka had ended up sprawled on the ground many a time after a klutz-attack. But I was panicking. Something was wrong, and it wasn't hard to figure out just what it was.

I couldn't sense her soul wavelength.

"Maka?" I called hoarsely. My meister didn't move. "Maka!"

No response. She lay there, spread-eagled on the stone ground with her long cloak twisted and in shreds, ashen faced, with blood trickling from the corner of her lips. Her beautiful emerald eyes were closed. She was still as a statue.

I forced myself to my feet and staggered to my partner's side. Only the very faint rise and fall of her chest, and the even fainter wavelengths that still fought to pulse from her, gave any hint that she was alive. Her whole body was drenched in blood, half of her face splattered with it. I wanted to kick myself. I hadn't protected her the way I was supposed to as a weapon. She was on the ground, broken and bleeding, and I was whole, with barely a scratch or bruise on me. I wasn't a weapon worthy of a meister as tough as Maka.

Rough ground met my knees, and then I was kneeling over my best friend, holding both of her hands in mine and pleading with her to open her eyes. I didn't realize that tears were running down my face until they landed on Maka's. The glittering splash against her pale and fragile cheek caught me by surprise, and somehow I managed to feel embarrassed. I mean, cool guys don't _cry_. But, once tears start, they are difficult to stop. And so, over my barely breathing partner, I cried and begged for her not to go. Pleaded with her to open her eyes, to wake up, anything but die. When looking at her impassive face became too much for me to bear, I turned my face to the sky with my lips parted in a soundless scream. I didn't want it to be soundless. I wanted to shriek, shout, cry, to let the very sky know my pain. But my voice was gone: I couldn't make a sound past the enormous lump in my throat.

No one else was in the square. We were completely alone. There was no one to witness my terror that something irreparable had happened to my partner. Just as there was no one to witness what that one shattered teardrop on Maka's cheek did then. It disappeared. Dissolved into her skin. And as it did, Maka's breathing grew heavier, as though trying to fill her lungs with twice the oxygen they could handle. Color started to return to her cheeks.

Who could have guessed that my enhanced ability as a Death Scythe was a healing wavelength like Marie's? Not me. Probably not anybody that knew me.

I noticed the change immediately in the increased strength of her soul's wavelength. It washed over me, a little battered but solidly _there_ now. Waves of warmth flowed over me, engulfing me in her kind, loving aura. The same one that had, somehow, been found compatible with my arrogant, wild persona. The same wavelength that had saved me from madness, that had made us capable of the technique known as the _Kishin_ _Hunter_. The one that always communicated what she could never say in words. In some ways, that wavelength was a direct connection to her thoughts and emotions, not just her soul. The wavelength that matched mine. That could resonate soundly with mine, producing a power that not even Maka's mother could boast. It was there again.

"Maka?" I said cautiously, afraid that breaking the silence would break the spell. You couldn't describe the relief I felt when her eyes fluttered and opened.

"S-Soul?" Maka murmured softly.

I smiled my sharp-toothed grin and crushed Maka gently to my chest, heedless of the blood that covered her. I buried my face in her hair, whispering into the sandy blonde locks.

"Yeah, it's me. Don't worry, I've got you. You're alright. I swear to Death I won't let anything like this happen again."

"Did we get her?" She said feebly. "Did…did you get the soul?"

I grinned widely, and I just knew that my scarlet eyes were shining.

"Yeah. Yeah, we did. You're looking at the youngest Death Scythe since the Executioner. How cool are we?"

"Soul…" Maka sighed, burrowing into my thick jacket. Her delicate hands fisted in the orange shirt beneath it, and I laughed.

Then, very gently, I slid my arms beneath her body and lifted her into the air.

"C'mon, Maka, let's get home."

With a quiet sigh, Maka drifted back out of consciousness, cradled against her partner's chest by strong, secure arms. The last thing she was aware of, I think, was the steady heartbeat in my chest.

…

Looking down at Maka, I felt something inside me warm. When had I become so comfortable with this contact? When had I finally accepted her touch without the flinching and the cringing? I laughed. Years ago. It had been years since I'd really thought about my contact with Maka. I never thought about her hand in mine as I transformed anymore, never thought about slumping against her while watching TV, or how we would sometimes have to stagger home, each other's arms the only things keeping us upright. Well, not in the same way, I didn't think about it, anyway. It hadn't always been like that, though. It used to be that I never let _anyone _touch me.

I still remembered that day. The room I'd been waiting in was dark and rather depressing, with dark walls and a black ceiling, the floor tiled in black and red. Only later would I realize that my soul, the Black Room, had taken on the image of this place, of the cramped room where my life changed forever. A large, glossy grand piano was situated in the center of the room, and it was on the piano bench I sat as meister after meister came and left, always too unnerved by my intensity, my unusual eyes or my strange, sharp teeth. Whatever it was, the point was made early—nobody wanted me. After a long period of time when nobody showed up, I had finally decided that I was out of people interested in a scythe partner, and turned to the piano.

Resting my fingers lightly on the appropriate keys, I began to play. No sheet music. I didn't need it. I had a tendency to make things up as I went along.

Indifference was the façade of my life back then. I never showed emotion if I could help it—it wasn't cool. I tried not to feel at all. Feelings were useless, they were setbacks. But I couldn't help but feel disappointment as the number of meister rejections grew and grew, never mind the fact that I hadn't liked the meisters anyway. Couldn't help but feel pain when my own family continually looked down on me, like I was an irritating insect. Couldn't _help_ the fear that I was drowning in, the fear that I may never have a partner who could tolerate me, who I could resonate with. _Couldn't help_ being afraid, every minute, that I might hurt someone.

These emotions I handled by playing. They all poured out through my fingers into the keys on the piano. The result was a haunting, melancholy sounding song. Usually I preferred to play with the twelve-tone technique, also called serialism, but when I was feeling most vulnerable, I often played softer, more diverse branches. This was how I played now, for nobody but myself, until my sensitive ears caught the sound of the door creaking open.

Immediately I stopped playing and spun around on the bench, expecting one of the professors to come in saying that they were sorry, but there were no other takers. Instead I saw familiar figure. A girl with a thin, rather boyish figure, standing in the doorway, slim hands on under-developed hips. Her sandy blonde hair was in pigtails and her large green eyes scanned the room before coming to rest on me, in my black pinstriped suit and scarlet undershirt, the exact color of my eyes. I was sure that, despite our previous, admittedly pleasant encounters, all she would see was the shark-toothed, red-eyed, white-haired freak that the others did, and knew this meeting wouldn't last long.

She was dressed like a young school girl, with a short, maroon plaid skirt and a thick yellow sweater vest over a white button-down shirt. Over it she wore a long, sweeping black robe that reached her steel-toed black boots. Considering that I had scared off guys twice this girl's size and that looked like they could eat her for breakfast, I didn't expect that she would be any different. She'd probably run out of there faster than all of the others. But, she'd been surprising, even impressing, me so far.

Maka Albarn.

"_You_ don't have a partner?" She asked, stepping forward into the room.

I shook my head wordlessly. She smiled and walked over to stand beside me.

"Huh, small world. I'm a one-star scythe meister."

"Soul Eater Evans." I said in my deep, rough voice. "Scythe. I prefer Soul Eater."

"So do I." Maka laughed. "It suits you." She grinned.

Cautiously I returned her smile with a very small one of my own. I could sense the girl's soul wavelength emanating from her, and it felt…different than the others. The only way I could describe it was _warm_. Where the others had been defiant, or cynical, or cold, she seemed open and friendly. I hadn't noticed it before. A little rough around the edges perhaps, maybe a bit guarded, but who wasn't like that to some degree? She still was kind and caring in a way that I had yet to see from others. And yeah, I felt kind of weird that I got that about her so quickly. But the thought gave me hope. Maybe, just maybe, that accepting aura surrounding her could include me, however different it might be from my rather pompous, arrogant self.

What I hadn't know was that, while I was studying her wavelength, she was also taking the time to familiarize herself with mine(Not for the first time either), something that none of the previous meisters had thought to try. She saw hurt, and fear. Saw how hopeless I often felt. The feel of my soul was rough, as she explained to me much later; the best way for her to describe it was maybe a bit worse for the wear. But she could also sense how determined I was to prove myself, how fierce my drive was to become a Death Scythe. And she could read the astounding loyalty that laced through it all. But, unlike me, Maka said she didn't sense any of the pomp, or arrogance—okay, maybe a _little_—or the overwhelming intensity that scared so many. She also didn't find it at all strange that she had understood me so thoroughly. My soul's wavelength had actually reminded her…a bit of herself. Or so she told me.

"So, can I see?" Maka said when I made no move to start a conversation. I hesitated only for a heartbeat before I shrugged.

"You may want to stand back, though."

Obediently Maka took a couple steps away to give me some room, watching curiously as I rose to my feet and closed my eyes. The transformation never lasted longer than a few seconds. First the spreading tingling sensation, then the glowing blue light, and then _bam!_ I was a scythe, with a long, dark steel handle. The blade in which my reflection could be seen was red and black, and a single scarlet eye stared at Maka from the spot where the blade and handle joined.

Maka stared, a look of awe upon her face. Hesitantly, giving me the option to change back, Maka advanced and reached out a hand for the metal handle. I almost did change, but then I dug my heels in—metaphorically—and waited. The moment her gloved fingers wrapped around the metal rod, there were two simultaneous gasps. A rush of warmth overcame us both, spreading from the point of contact throughout our being, and we knew. We knew that this was it. Our wavelengths had merged.

But, when I changed back, I refused her offered hand, although I readily agreed to take her as my meister. The adamant rebuttal of a simple handshake confused Maka, and maybe even offended her a little, but she let it go, changing the subject.

"Was that you playing when I came in?" She asked.

I grimaced, but nodded. She tilted her head to the side.

"Do you not like people to hear you play?"

I shrugged, looking away. Honestly? No, I didn't like people to hear me play. It made me feel exposed; I was putting floods of emotion into the music, and I just didn't want anyone to know me as intimately as that. So I couldn't believe the words that left my mouth next.

"Do you want to hear?"

Maka's eyes widened just a little, but she nodded. Sighing, I sat on the piano bench and cracked my knuckles. I hesitated with my fingers hovering over the keys, shooting an uncomfortable glance at my one-man(One-woman?)audience, and Maka tried to put a hand on my shoulder. A hand I instantly shook off.

"You don't have to play. Not if you don't want to." She said.

But I shrugged again, telling her it was fine, and then played my favorite song, using the twelve-tone technique that drove my father to madness and beyond. It was a music style that ensured that no note was played more than any other, a kind of orderly chaos, some would call it. My favorite kind.

When I had finished, I'd forgotten that anyone else was there, and I was startled when I turned to see Maka standing there, looking at me with what I could only describe as admiration. She'd stayed. She'd actually stayed, through the whole thing. She gave a little golf clap, and then led me out of the room.

In the days that followed Maka and I learned quickly what bothered each other. The school had convinced Spirit to let his daughter move in with me in my small flat, because weapons and their meisters were encouraged to live together, in order to grow better relationships, and living in such close proximity one was forced to learn quickly. I learned not to disturb Maka while reading unless it was a dire situation, I learned that she was a great cook, that she appreciated equality and was not opposed to making me do some work, just as she refused to decline difficult "men" tasks; she hated "sexist asses". I learned that she was a guarded person, because she'd been hurt in the worse way, and that she found it near impossible to trust, especially men, and that she was taking a huge leap of faith in taking me as her partner, for which I told her I was extremely grateful.

And Maka rapidly learned that I was also guarded. I wouldn't talk about my family, or about my music, or about myself at all, really. I liked to live in the here and now, my main concern being my "cool-factor", or so I led on. I never played again, not when she could hear. And I didn't do physical contact. This Maka learned swiftly, and to my great surprise, she understood the reason why.

Well, maybe not at first, but she respected my privacy and didn't try to push me. All it took for her to understand was our first day of training, though. Maka had obviously not been as adept at weapon-handling as she was today, and during one of her exercises she managed to give herself a nasty cut on her shoulder with me. I had immediately changed back, my eyes surely flashing guiltily, and ran to find the instructor for some bandages. When I returned, Maka tried to cheer me up, tell me that of course it wasn't _my_ fault she was a klutz, and she made the mistake of reaching out to me. I cringed back and muttered something about ice before running off, and that was all it took.

I was afraid. I was so afraid that I couldn't control my weapon form, that I might hurt someone without even meaning to, that I went to any extent to make sure there was no physical contact. Especially between the people I cared most about. And I cared about her. She was one of few that had, from the start, accepted me as I was.

I sighed as I thought back on Maka's selfless behavior after that, teaching me slowly but surely that contact wouldn't hurt someone unless I wanted it to. It had taken her months, but the girl was nothing if not persistent.

She had started off gently, simply nudging my shoulder or elbow, or bumping our knees during class whenever she noticed that my mind had started to wander. She wouldn't Maka-Chop me until much later(Unfortunately). As I grew accustomed to this, she would occasionally start taking my hand to guide me around Death City, to which I was still fairly new. It made me uncomfortable at first, but soon I began to appreciate the touch of another living being. Of course, we had plenty of contact during training, but that wasn't the same. I was starting to actually believe that I really wouldn't hurt everything simply by touching it.

Then she took to gently shaking me awake each morning to announce that breakfast was on the table. This was by far the strangest addition to the routine, but as before, I had easily adjusted, even come to welcome and expect, the morning visits. No matter what Maka tried, I seemed ready for it. I thought it had largely to do with the fact that I knew what she was doing, and I was rather touched that anyone was putting so much energy into _me. _I wasn't used to attention. Not used to anyone caring.

Then, one furiously stormy night, Maka had her breakthrough. We had bonded easily, almost without even noticing, becoming good friends that only wanted to take care of one another, and that night was no exception. I had sensed a hitch in my partner's wavelength; a stutter, then a spike. An overwhelming fear, and I had torn out of my bed and entered her room in less than a second. She was tossing and turning on her bed, her covers tangled around her legs or else on the floor. Maka cried out weakly. Satisfied that she wasn't being attacked, I allowed myself to relax, and walked to Maka's bedside, sitting down gingerly on the edge of the mattress. Sand-colored hair was spread across her plain white pillow in a tangled mess.

"Maka." I said softly. She didn't respond. I placed my hands on her shoulders and mimicked her morning behaviors, gently shaking her. "Maka, wake up." Still she didn't wake, and I shook her harder.

Maka's emerald eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright, nearly sending me sprawling to the floor.

"Are you alright Maka?" I said cautiously. She was breathing as though she'd just sprinted a marathon. "That had to have been one Hell of a nightmare."

She looked at me with shining eyes, and then launched herself at me, burying her face in my bare chest and wrapping her arms around my waist. Although caught off guard, I paused only a moment before my own arms wrapped around her, holding her carefully, as though she might break. It didn't even cross my mind that I might hurt her, that this contact was bad. I just held her, chin resting on top of her head while she cried into my chest, until at long last she calmed down, and fell asleep still in my arms.

Ever since that night, physical contact had been nothing between us. At least, not something negative.

"Soul…" Maka muttered, pulling me back to the present.

"Mm?" I said, looking back up as I pushed through the door to our flat.

"Why are you sighing?" She asked. She sounded as though she was talking through cotton.

"Just thinking." I said with a small smile.

"About?" She pressed. I shook my head as I laid her down on her bed.

"When you finally became my meister."

"What brought…that to mind?"

"I was just thinking about the whole physical contact complex I used to have, comparing it to the fact that now I'm stuck carrying you around half the time." I joked.

"Yeah, that was…hard to break through." She laughed softly.

"But you did it." I replied, my voice taking on a quality neither of us recognized. Maka smiled.

"Yeah, I guess I did."

"I still don't get why you put so much work into something so small." I said, genuine confusion lacing my voice. Her smile grew bigger.

"It wasn't a small thing, though." She said. "You were afraid that you'd hurt someone accidentally, without meaning to, without even _knowing_ it. That's a big thing that can set you back quite a bit, especially in this line of work. Someone needed to show you that everything you touched wouldn't turn to stone or blood."

I stared at her for a long time, not saying a word. My crimson eyes simply gazed at her, an indescribable expression flickering in them, until Maka started to blush.

"What?" She said finally. I gave her a lopsided smile.

"Nothing. Go to sleep. Tomorrow we'll get to walk into school the coolest kids at the Academy."

Maka laughed, then rolled over on her bed. In no time she was snoring quietly.

"Snoring," I muttered as I ducked out of Maka's room. "So un-cool. Well, whatever. There had to be something wrong with her."

Cautiously I peered into my own room, hoping fervently that Blair was out. But, no luck. The magical cat was sprawled in the middle of my damn bed, probably just waiting for me to come in so that she could have some fun. Despite the nosebleed at the thought, it didn't appeal to me at all. The very idea made me rather sick. Pervert cat. She was one twisted feline, stealing my bed. Grumbling incoherently I moved to the couch, stripping off my t-shirt on the way. I had barely made myself comfortable before sleep took me.


	2. Where Are You!

Part II

Soul wasn't there. Nobody was there. Maka was on her own, and she felt sick at the thought. That might have just been from the thug's rancid breath, though. She had her back pressed to the cold stone wall of the alley, her wrists pinned above her head by the huge guy's meaty hand. She couldn't move. His lower body ground atrociously against hers, pressing her hard against the wall and basically immobilizing her.

Fury had consumed her at first, but as the situation quickly deteriorated, fear swallowed the anger, leaving her trembling and squirming uselessly. The man's other hand knew not the boundaries of clothes, and slipped right beneath her blouse, inching up her abdomen to skim across her breasts. The breath hissed through her teeth.

"Take your hands off of me, pervert." She growled, for the umpteenth time. The man grinned cruelly.

"I don't remember saying you could speak, sweetheart." He gave her breast a firm squeeze that made her gasp.

"I don't remember saying you could violate me, you bastard." She retorted.

"Such a fowl mouth. But you know, I don't really mind." He leered, stroking the sensitive spots on Maka's chest. She trembled. "I'd still love a taste.

He lowered his face, and latched his mouth onto hers. His lips were hard and cruel, forcing hers apart so that his tongue could explore at his leisure. It played with hers, chasing her in circles around her own mouth. _Death_, he tasted every bit as bad as he smelled. She finally remembered that she had teeth, and she bit down on his tongue. Hard. He jerked backwards, swearing, then glowered at her.

"Alright. If you want to play dirty, so will I. Don't bother screaming, no one will help you."

The hand that didn't hold her wrists squeezed her breast hard one last time, then ripped her blouse open, sending the buttons bouncing off of the ground

"Strapless, eh? Not the best idea for a big city." The thug said, and undid the clasp on the back of her bra, which fell at their feet. Maka was shaking violently now, even before the man leaned down and fastened his mouth to her breast. She gasped, and the first tear fell down her face as she felt his rough tongue and the scrape of his teeth.

"Stop it!" She had meant to shout, but she could only manage a weak whimper.

The thug pulled back enough to smile, then his lips found her neck, taking a fold of skin and sucking on it. Slowly he made his way to her ear, swiping his slimy tongue inside the delicate shell before hissing into it.

"You don't want me to. You know it feels good. You like it. Just succumb, and you'll love the results."

"Screw you." She hissed venomously.

He said something else, but Maka didn't hear it. His roaming hand had found the hem of her skirt, and was pushing up inside the fabric, rubbing circles on the inside of her thigh before moving even higher to cup her mound, his fingers pressing against the thin cotton fabric at her most sensitive spot.

"Take your hands off of me, damn you!" She said, finally getting her voice to a shout.

"Now, now, don't be like that." Said the man, and he returned his lips to her breast.

She gasped and squirmed, but there was nowhere for her to go. His fingers were stroking her most sensitive spot, starting a horribly unwilling fire inside her. They stroked her, played with the inside of her thighs, trying to find the edge of her panties.

More tears fell.

"Damn you, you're going to Hell!" Maka half-sobbed.

His fingers found their goal, and slid her undergarment down so they could reach their mark. She shuddered when they entered her, hating the fact that his fingers inside of her still felt good, that she could still like the touch even as it was violent and dirty and unwanted. Sliding in and out of her, stroking her walls and delving deeper and deeper. When his hand left her spot, she knew what it was doing, and she struggled even harder, but it was no use. She heard the belt hit the ground with a slight _thump_, and closed her eyes, wishing she could just die before the inevitable happened.

In her desperation Maka could almost pretend she heard footsteps, running nearer and nearer.

She heard the zipper go down. The man's hardness pressed against her unprotected entrance, only the thin material of his boxers blocking him. That didn't stop him from rocking against her in a brutal motion, beating against her spot even as he started to free himself fully.

And then she heard the most wonderful thing in the world. A furious voice, shouting from the end of the alley, making the thug pause.

"Get your damn hands off of her _now_!"

Maka opened her eyes and saw a pair of enraged red eyes glowing through the darkness beneath a shock of white hair. Shark-like teeth were bared in a menacing snarl.

"Soul!" She half shouted, half sobbed. The man looked around, but all he saw was a weird-looking kid a head and a half shorter than him, in baggy gray jeans, a bright orange shirt, a black leather jacket, and a thin black headband.

"Scram, kid, we're a little busy." He said, his hand resting suggestively on Maka's stomach.

"Like Hell." Soul snarled, and a vicious-looking red blade extended from each of his forearms. The man froze, then dropped Maka and dashed off, in the opposite direction of the pissed-off Death Scythe.

Maka fell to her knees, clutching the edges of her top together in an effort to cover herself. She was quaking ferociously.

Soul sprinted to her side, "sheathing" the blades on his arms, and knelt down. He didn't say anything. He didn't call her an idiot for wandering off alone. He didn't demand to know why or how she had let her guard slip. Didn't tell her all of the things she could have done. His arms went around her, pulling her to his chest in a tender embrace and resting his cheek on the top of her head. She burrowed into his chest, crying out of fear and disbelief that she could have let herself get into that situation. Fury that she'd had to be rescued, again.

Locked in Soul's strong, safe arms, Maka poured out floods of tears, all the time with Soul stroking her hair and telling her to shush, that she was alright, that he would never let that happen to her again.

~Soul~

I couldn't believe that I had let this happen. I was her weapon. I was supposed to _protect_ her, and she'd just been seconds away from being raped. As it was she'd been horribly violated, and I couldn't help but think that it was all my fault. _If I hadn't left her_. I though. _If I had just stayed with her_. I held her tighter against me, wishing I could take her pain away, that I could bear it for her, no matter how much she may resent it. Eventually Maka pulled back, wiping her eyes and sniffling. I could feel the concern filling my gaze.

Wordlessly I shrugged out of my jacket, then my shirt, and handed Maka both. She slipped into the t-shirt quietly—you could have fit two, maybe even three of her skinny bodies in it—and I slung my jacket over her shoulders.

"You're not cold at all, Soul?" She asked, glancing at my bare chest. A mistake. Her throat constricted every time she saw it. The scar.

"Nah, I'm f—Maka? What's up?" I said, noticing the sudden tightening of her shoulders even beneath my thick leather jacket. She looked away and didn't answer.

I glanced down, and sighed. The scar. It still hurt her. I hated that it tormented Maka every time she saw it; could hardly bear to see the guilt that threatened to drown her. It was her fault, she thought. Maka blamed herself for getting me injured. She blamed herself for the fact that I had nearly died getting that scar, that I had gotten it while protecting her. The pain radiating from her, through her soul's wavelengths, was enough to drive me mad. I didn't want to be the reason she hurt, the reason that shame threatened to crush her. She had been striving to be stronger ever since, determined to protect her weapon—which I couldn't help feel was backwards; it was _my _job as the weapon to protect her—and to be more independent. The problem was, she was already so strong, and the thing that was driving her was fear. We both knew how bad things could turn out when fear was the main drive, and so Maka had all but given up. She had tried to make me take another meister, once, but of course there was no way in Hell, Heaven, or Earth that I would, or even _could_ consider that.

I reached out, touching her face gently with the tips of my fingers. She turned to look at me with shining eyes. My hand slid down her arm to hers; I wrapped my fingers around her wrist and pressed her palm to my bare chest, over my heart, and over my scar. Her fingertips trembled, and she looked away. I put both of my hands over hers to still the shaking, and to press her against my pulse.

"Maka, look at me." She wouldn't. "_Maka_…" Her gaze was on the ground.

"Soul…" Her voice quivered.

"Maka, _look at me_. I know you hate seeing this scar, but you have to." I growled. Maka slowly looked up, meeting my scarlet gaze with her emerald one.

"Soul, don't—"

"No, _you_ don't, Maka." I cut across her. "This scar was for you. You were _not_ going to die. Not in front of me. So I got in the way. I was _ready_ to die, _for you_. But I didn't die. Yeah, I bled. A lot. But I'm alive. I am _right damn here_. This wasn't your fault—it was my choice. You wouldn't block, so I did it for you. That's my _job._ As a weapon, it's my duty to put your life before mine, to protect you _with my life._ It wasn't your decision, it wasn't your fault, and it's not worth beating yourself up over. That night is past and gone. We're both alive. I hate seeing you torment yourself so much about a stupid scar."

Maka scowled.

"But it _was_ my fault. If I hadn't barged in there with no idea what we were facing, it wouldn't have happened. I screwed up. If I had been—"

"_Don't._ Say. Stronger." I snapped. "Maka, you are, without a doubt, the strongest, smartest, most determined person I have ever met. For you to sit here, going on about what could have happened, how you should've been stronger, is just plain stupid. You're smart, you're brave, you're strong, and you're beautiful."

I had said it before I could stop myself, and watched as her eyes widened.

"Did you just call "tiny-tits" what I think you called her?" She said. I smirked at the mention of my nickname for her.

"Depends." I said airily. "What does she think I called her?"

Maka blushed, but answered in a soft voice. "Beautiful?"

I felt heat creep across my own cheeks, but I shrugged nonchalantly. _Stay cool…Stay cool…_

"Then yeah, tiny-tits heard right."

"MAKA CHOP!" Maka shouted.

I crumpled to the cement with an agonizing pain in my head.

"How do you make those books come out of nowhere?" I demanded as Maka tucked the huge tome back inside my jacket. "And why didn't you do that when the jackass snuck up on you?"

Maka paled and clenched her jaw. _Damn. _I kicked myself internally.

"Hey, forget I said anything, alright?" I said, standing up and offering Maka a hand. She took it gingerly, and I wrapped an arm around her waist. We walked home in fairly comfortable silence, my arms around her protectively.

"Soul?" Maka said softly when we were safely inside the flat.

"Yeah?"

"Did you mean it?"

"Did I mean what?"

"What you said? Do you really think that I'm…beautiful?"

I swore that I could hear the blush in her voice as I led her to her room.

"Maka, I absolutely meant what I said." I laid her down on her bed, and sat beside her, stroking her rumpled hair tenderly. More tenderly than Maka could have thought possible of the too-cool-to-care Soul Eater Evans, I'd wager. "And that makes me wonder why in Death's name you Maka-Chopped my brains out."

Maka frowned at me.

"Because I thought you were mocking me."

I looked down at her, my hand pausing in her hair. Hurt pulsed through me at the very idea that Maka could even think I _could_, that I ever _would_, make fun of her about something like that.

"Maka, how could—"

"Soul, I've been through five years of being called tiny-tits, of having you poke non-stop fun at my flat chest, of having you talk all the time about how too-cool you were to ever go for a girl as plain as me." She looked away. "I've watched you get nosebleed after nosebleed every time you see girls with a lot of cleavage, and you look at me like I'm nothing special, like I'm just one of those average people with nothing going for them."

I stared at her. Was she right? Was that really all I had done to her? Tease her, call her stupid names, tell her she was just another girl? The more I thought about it, the more I realized that was indeed the case. I'd been nothing to her but a shallow jerk that was obligated to guard her. Couldn't she see that she was so much more to me? So much more than an average, boring, flat-chested girl who couldn't even hope to compete with people like Blair? No, how could she see, when I never gave her any clue? I felt like the biggest jackass ever. No, I _was_ the biggest jackass ever. How damn un-cool.

I took her hand in both of mine, waiting for Maka to meet my gaze. When her bright green eyes finally flickered over to meet my ruby ones, I gave her hand a gentle squeeze and lowered my face over hers until our foreheads touched. We both blushed at the sudden proximity, but neither pulled away.

"Maka Albarn, I've been an insensitive, incompetent dumbass whenever I've talked to you. I only meant those things I said as jokes, but I guess the more often I said them, the more you believed them. It's true I never said anything to contradict them, I never really spoke a kind word or compliment to you, and for that, I'm…" I swallowed hard, finishing the un-cool sentence before I could chicken out. "I'm so sorry."

"Soul, that's not—"

"Let me finish. I guess I gave you the idea that you really were nothing special, that you weren't something everyone wants to be or wants to have, but believe me, that's not what I meant to do. You are so much more than plain, or boring, or average. You're amazing, you're brilliant, you're strong, and yeah, you're beautiful. You have an amazingly kind, accepting soul, especially considering the things your womanizing dad put you through. You're warm and caring, and the first person I've really been able to fully trust in my entire life. You always tell people the truth, even if it hurts them, because you're smart enough to realize that, in the long run, a pretty lie would hurt them even more. You're what I strive to be like every day. I fail epically, but I never stop trying to be a better person. Someone like you, better than my arrogant, self-possessed and admittedly perverted self. I'm so damn un-cool, it's not even remotely funny." I sighed.

"Soul…"

"Maka, I'm still not done." I said, and resolved there and then to tell her everything I'd ever held back. "Maka, from the moment I met you I just knew there was something different about you. You didn't cringe from my red eyes, or my demon teeth, or the way I talked. You didn't run from me like so many others did, because I didn't have the best outlook on life. And something about your soul's wavelength comforted me, even then, even before we had ever resonated. I could sense the warmth and compassion in it. Ever since that first day, I wanted you. Not just as my meister, not just as my best friend, although that _was_ how it started.

"You tried so hard to make me comfortable, to help me overcome my fears, and I was touched. You actually cared about me, and it stunned me. It was that night, when I'd held you for the first time as you tried to fight back the fear of that nightmare, that I swore I'd do the same. I'd help you face your fears. I'd protect you. I cared about you, more than I was ever willing to admit, even to myself, but I sure did. Your trust in me, your faith in me, your acceptance of me, it made me care for you so much. Did you ever notice that? Did you ever notice that I wasn't asleep half the time as I leaned against you in front of the TV? That I wasn't hurt badly enough to need to hold you like I did? I'll bet you didn't."

Slowly Maka shook her head.

"Maka Albarn, one-star scythe meister, daughter of Death Scythe Spirit, from the moment I held you in my arms, I have loved you with all my heart. I still love you. Always have, always will. To me you're the most beautiful girl in the world, the smartest, the toughest, the kindest, and _coolest_ person I have ever known. Tsubaki's nice and all, but that's part of the problem. She's _too_ nice. Liz is too weird about all the cosmetic crap, and Patty's just plain crazy, but you…I love you, Maka Albarn, and I think I always will."

Maka's breath caught when I kissed her forehead. I pulled back, and was startled to see tears in Maka's eyes.

"Maka? What's up?" I said, suddenly afraid I'd made a mistake.

"Soul…" She said tremulously. "I—I can't."

"What? Why?" My heart sank.

"You know what happened to my parents." She whispered softly. "It never lasts. Someone always gets bored, and then someone gets hurt. That could ruin everything, Soul. Everything we have. I don't want to lose you, as my friend or my weapon, no matter how much I…No matter that I want…"

Want?

"Maka," I murmured, half amused, half exasperated. "Do you trust me?"

"Of course!" She said it without hesitation.

"Then you should know that I'd never do that. I'd never hurt you, Maka, never. Especially in that way. I'm not your psycho father. I love you, Maka, only you. You're the only person I could ever possibly need or want."

Before she could argue, I placed a soft, sound kiss on Maka's trembling lips. She gave a small gasp of surprise, but didn't pull away. Taking this as encouragement, I took her hands and guided them to the back of my neck. Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me closer. Reaching up to cradle her face in my hands, I stroked Maka's jaw lightly with my thumbs. Our lips moved tenderly against each other's, mine gently coaxing Maka's apart. Cautiously I ran the tip of my tongue along the inside of her bottom lip, and thought I'd burst into flames when she moaned my name.

"Soul…"

"Mm…?" I answered thickly, drawing back and burrowing my face in the curve of her neck.

"I—I love you too."

My lips curved into a smile against her skin as overwhelming joy filled me. She _did_! She _did_ feel the same!

Maka gasped when I started to worry a fold of skin beneath her ear with my mouth, carefully sucking and nipping at it. I released it with a swipe of my tongue, pausing a moment to admire the dull red mark. _My_ mark. My Maka…

I feathered kisses along her jaw, coming to a pause at her ear.

"Glad to hear it."

She gasped again—it was an adorable sound—when my sharp teeth grazed her earlobe, drawing a drop of blood. Immediately I disposed of it with a flick of my tongue, and she shivered. With a hungry moan Maka pulled my lips back to hers in a fiercely passionate kiss.

This time her lips parted against mine, and I breathed in the taste of her, eager to take the kiss further, but wanting Maka to take the lead. I didn't want to take it farther than she was ready for. But, she seemed to be sharing my thoughts. Although hesitant, she was clearly eager to explore my mouth. Her tongue slid past my lips, and I shuddered and groaned, pressing myself more firmly to her. Our mouths moved against each other's, hungry and curious. Our tongues fought for dominance, chasing each other around first my mouth, then hers. Eventually I won, and I pulled hers back into my moist cavern, sucking. She shivered and gave a moan of her own, nibbling at my bottom lip.

I was the one who finally broke away, panting slightly. We were tangled together as best we could manage on her bed, our legs twined together and our arms wrapped around each other. My shirt and jacket, which had been covering her, were lying forgotten on the floor.

"We…have to stop…here." I said roughly.

"Why?" She protested, leaning back to meet my crimson eyes with those jewel-toned ones of hers.

"Because," I leaned my forehead against hers. "You had a very eventful, pretty un-cool evening, and I want you to be completely yourself before something like this goes _any _farther, Maka."

"I guess that makes sense." She sighed, and curled up against my chest, with my arms wrapped protectively around her.

As her eyes fell upon the scar, for the first time ever, I sensed pride emanating from her instead of pain. I fell asleep with a smile on my face.


End file.
